


I Can Fall

by Bodyandsoulagenda



Series: Only For A Moment, I'll Let you Care [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Multi, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is a Little Shit, Sassy Peter, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodyandsoulagenda/pseuds/Bodyandsoulagenda
Summary: Spiderman is a funny, kind, friendly and patient hero.Peter Parker has a dark sense of humor, is good at hiding behind a smile, inpatient, and stubborn, hardened by the death of his Aunt and Uncle.Living alone in a house he inherited from his parents when they passed, he's managed to avoid getting caught up in "governmental problems" such as CPS, S.H.I.E.L.D, The Avengers, not that they are really governmental.They want to ask questions that he doesn't want to answer to though, so they are just as bad.He's done pretty well so far until he blows it.The Avengers know enough about Spiderman, but they need to know the man behind the mask.The "man" behind the mask is unpleasant towards the Avengers when they kidnap and inquire him.





	1. For Your Own Good

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I hope this chapter isn't as precarious as I think it is.

Peter Parker took the death of his last living family members pretty hard. Before the CPS could find out he was an orphan, he had already taken refuge in his old home.

When his parents and Aunt and Uncle died, they had left him with a gracious amount of money in the bank, and his parents had left him a house.

A fake ID in hand, he took possession of the house with it, and position of everything inside.

He knew if he used the money his Aunt, Uncle and parents had left him carefully, it could last him a few years. But he needed more than a few years, so, he sold what he didn't need from the house. Two of the three TVs, all the computers, the desktops, the drawers, his parent's bed, everything in his nursery, his mother's jewelry, most of his parent's clothes, shoes. His mother's piano. His father's violin.

He sold two out of three of his father's cars, but couldn't bring himself to sell the fourth car, the red Audi 2009. He was too young to drive so he kept it in the garage.

He sold so many things, all which he had an emotional attachment to, just because they had been his parents, so it hurt when the people came to take them away. His Uncle had told him many times to be smart though, and he was being smart, now he had more than enough money for college and money for food.

One of the first things he bought was a laptop. This, he used for school.

For a moment, he considered dropping out of school. Why, because everyone in the movies did so when they were orphans, and he was tired. He preferred to stay at home all day instead of going to school and coming back home to no one.

But he knew that that wouldn't do anything for him, and just because they did it in the movies, it didn't mean he should do it too. He could live off the money he had for as long as he wanted, but he knew at some point he would need to get a job, and that needed school. Anyway, he had to stop brooding.

So he still went to Midtown High School, a place he worked hard to get a scholarship to.

The second thing he bought was red spandex pants, a red hoodie, a thin red ski face mask, and black converse hightops. This outfit wasn't for school, but for Spiderman.

Yes, he took the death of his Aunt and Uncle really hard.

His abilities, he had gotten accidentally from a radioactive spider. For the first few months he had them, he thought, if he just ignored them, they wouldn't really be there. But then, Ben and May died, and it was his fault, because he had been too panicked, and had not wanted to reveal his abilities.

What a stupid mistake, because of this mistake, Ben and May died, right in front of him.

He still had their blood on his hands, and he knew he could never clean it off, the least he could do though, was to do better.

So, with the few ingredients he found in the basement, and the few notes he found there too, the many notes had been his parent's, they had been scientists before they died after all, and with a few of his own notes, he was able to create the web fluid that he used with a web launcher, he had this to his suit.

In the end, he wanted to add his own special touch to his suit, he refused to call it a costume, so, he traced a big spider on a piece of cloth and sowed it on the back of his hood, died the sleeves of his hoodie blue, just because he didn't want to be all red. These were the last touches.

Six months after his aunt and uncle's death, he made a bold decision. He'd walked to a building, climbed the walls to the top, then threw himself off it.

Before he fell, he shot a web to the building across and swung.

0o0o0o0o

The thing with being a vigilante. Well, at some point, you earn people's trust. That's a good thing yes, but still, they begin making a habit out of leaving their windows open, leaving their doors unlocked, letting their children stay out later than usual. Spiderman will come if needed, you're fine!

These exact words he had heard a mother say to two of her sons and his friends.

Peter tried his best to keep his neighborhood safe, he really did, but these people just weren't helping him out much. He wasn't a cop, you couldn't just call him and expect him to come running.

He dropped off some notes at people's doorsteps when things started getting to out of hand and stressful.

Please, understand, I try my best to keep Queens safe, but you can't just leave the windows open, and doors unlocked. What if you sleepwalk out of your house onto the street. What if your six years old just walks out of the house. The weather, remember. Tough winds, rain, snow, I can't fight that, I'm afraid. It'd be cool if I did.

Lock your doors, close and lock your windows.

Anyway, please, fix your habits.

Love, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

This note wasn't completely accurate, and Peter was ashamed to say so. It was just, as much as he loved helping other people, and putting muggers in jail, he just had many other things to do. Homework, academic decathlon, his friends who he needed to keep convinced that no, he wasn't hiding anything, he just needed to get forty-eight hours of studying in, not including school hours.

He couldn't just say it like that. And he felt horrible about it, horrible about having his own needs to attend to.

At times, he thought, this is why these things happen to people. Because they always expect something to help them out with their problems, but he had his own problems!

These thoughts, they got close to getting to him, but he knew better, better than to think these things. So what if that was the reason why people were mugged, robbed, attacked, his job was to just stop the mugging, robbing, attacking, why? Because he could. They couldn't.

They needed his help.

With great power, comes great responsibility.

Uncle Ben had said these words to him, stared him in the eyes and recited them. Peter considered these words a coincidence having even been said, because an hour later, Ben died, and had his Uncle not recited these words to him, Peter would be in an orphanage, trying his hardest to get good grades and trying his hardest to hide his secret.

He pushed on though.

One way he pushed on was planning his day out the night before.

A list, it sat there on his bedside table when he woke up, his messy handwriting only readable to him. He turned his alarm off from his phone, but otherwise, didn't look at it.

7:00 - Get out of bed! Go to the bathroom. Wash your pretty face! Wash your teeth! Peter went to grab his phone. Don't look at your phone! The words on the paper screamed at him and he pulled his hand away.

Peter chuckled. What had he been thinking the night before when he wrote this?

He stood up and walked to the bathroom attached to his room. He didn't have running water, but he filled the sink with a jug he filled up the night before and washed his face with bar soap. He drained the water.

It went through a pipe and into a bucket below the sink. The big bucket had filled up enough and with little effort, he picked it up and took it to the kitchen, leaving it in the doorway.

7:07 - Leave the bucket of water in the kitchen before making your bed.

Check, so then he made his bed.

7:10 - water the plants with the sink water.

He grew his own tomatoes, his own carrots, lettuce, strawberries, blueberries, the small stuff, right in his backyard. The bigger stuff, the apple trees, orange trees, peach trees, were already grown there when he got there, his only job was to water them, and take care of them.

He did that later in the day though, maybe, 1 A.M after patrolling.

Peter looked down at his paper.

7:15 - get changed! Drink a glass of water!

What was with the exclamation marks?

Peter pulled on jeans, threw on a NASA t-shirt, and slipped on some shoes then, he made his way to the kitchen. He served himself a glass of water and drank the water down as he looked down at the list.

7:20- look at the quotes on the wall.

The Quotes.

Every month, he managed to find a quote worthy of going on the walls of his house which had to power of pushing him ahead in life.

Some were cheesy, some were philosophical, some changed his view on everything, some just made him think.

AT THE END OF MY DAY, AT THE END OF MY WEEK, AT THE END OF MY MONTH, AT THE END OF MY LIFE, I WANNA BE ABLE TO SAY I CONTRIBUTED MORE THAN I CRITICIZED.

That was the quote that kept him from quitting being spiderman. The one that kept him from judging his people.

SIX ETHICS OF LIFE

BEFORE YOU PRAY- BELIEVE

BEFORE YOU SPEAK- LISTEN

BEFORE YOU SPEND- EARN

BEFORE YOU WRITE- THINK

BEFORE YOU DIE- LIVE

"THE FUTURE REWARDS THOSE WHO PRESS ON. I DON'T HAVE TIME TO FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF. I DON'T HAVE TIME TO COMPLAIN. IM GOING TO PRESS ON." - BARACK OBAMA.

Quotes and reciting like that, they scattered the wall of his room, basement, and living room. Some were the curtains to his windows.

His favorite was stuck to the back of his door in his room. He didn't write it, but he had bought it off an artist online.

There are two ways to look at life!

Under the words, there was a drawing, a man was slouched forward, head down, a dejected look on his face, drawn wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt.

Nobody gives a shit, was written discouragingly under the man, inside a square.

Then right beside that, a line down the middle separating them was the drawing of another man. He looked much happier, and his chest puffed out, his eyes light, and, to add to that, he was naked.

Nobody gives a shit! was happily written in a bubble.

The poster made him chuckle.

7:30- get your bag and go to school.

Peter left the list on the floor beside the front door before he grabbed his bag off the floor and did what he always dreaded doing. Walking out the front door. This wasn't as bad as getting on the bus and heading to school.

He took out his headphones, the only thing that kept him distracted from the fact that school was eight hours long was. Though he kept the music as low as he could, it still was loud to him. He wasn't going to make the mistake of leaving the noise level on a hundred.

When he hadn't known how bad the level of music was going to affect him, he had deaf for weeks. He knew weeks was better than a lifetime of deafness, but still, he did rather have the ability to hear.

He never took hearing for granted again after that.

He showed his ID to the people at the gates, walked inside through crowds of people and towards the school.

To that day, he still just couldn't believe he had gotten into that school. It was as nice as when he first got there.

"Hey!" a voice said behind him, one that ruined his opinions on that school every time, "Penis Parker!"

"We get it Flash!" another voice improved his thoughts, and he smiled turning around, "we get it okay! You love his dick, but please, keep your thoughts to yourself god damn it!"

Peter waved at Miles, who waved back before turning around and going back to talking to his friends.

Flash had flushed, and Peter hurried away before Flash could insult him again and make a fool out of himself.

Miles was a friend of his. Not his closest, but one none the less. Peter had many friends scattered all over the school, none of them very close, but close enough so that they were in his contact list, they were followed on social media, and they often felt obliged to invite him to their house parties.

Miles had thrown one only the week before that day, and Peter and gone stayed for an hour, dancing, drinking vodka, but couldn't get drunk because of his body metabolism. He watched others get drunk though, and drove some drunk high schoolers home, even though he wasn't old enough to have a license, he did have a fake ID, it didn't matter, he wasn't caught.

Peter smiled at the few people in the halls that greeted him and he finally got to his locker. He unlocked it and rummaged through his things until he found his science and math notebooks.

"Join me and together, we'll build my new lego death star," a deepened voice said behind him.

"Loser," came from the right of him.

Peter sighed turning to his left, arching an eyebrow at one of the cheerleaders standing beside him. She flushed when she saw it was him. He turned completely to face his best friend who was holding a Lego Darth Vader in his hand.

"What?" said Peter, flashing him a smile, "don't listen to her, that's so awesome. Uh, how many pieces?"

"3,803," Ned replied excitingly.

"I'll join you, uh, how about, after school," Peter offered, "I have about an hour maybe?"

Ned nodded, waiting patiently for Peter to store away some of his textbooks from his backpack into his locker before finally slamming it closed. He shrugged his backpack on.

"Math," Peter said, "let's go,"

Popularity was something that Peter at some point earned. Maybe it was because he was weird in a cool way, Michelle's words, not his. Michelle was another friend of his.

"Twelve o'clock, Gwen Stacy," Ned whispered into his ear.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Twelve o'clock, I think you said it wrong."

"Whatever, Gwen Stacy-"

"I know," Peter mumbled.

No, no, that girl, no he wasn't going to talk about his ex-girlfriend to his best friend who also used to be her best friend. He didn't even- why had he even dated her?

She was like, his best friend since childhood, he should have known better than to pull her into his own little world. He'd ended it on the wrong note. With the "it's best if we don't talk anymore," thing.

Gwen was still as pretty as ever with short blond hair and pretty blue eyes. God, he should have never-

"Bro," Ned said, pulling him out of his thoughts, "we're here, good luck,"

The seat arrangements didn't change because the teacher didn't care that they had broken up. Mandy and Miles sat with them too, both of them his old friends, but had more or less chosen Gwen's side after their little breakup. They made it clear they found it cruel how he ended it.

Peter sat on his stool, trying his best to ignore the screeching sound of Gwen's stool as she pulled her desk back from under the table, sat on it, then took some not so well hidden glances at him.

How long had he known her? Elementary school, yes. The first grade, yes, how could he just ruin that? They spent so much time studying together so that they could get into Midtown High together, spent so many nights studying together so they could pass the test they had put off studying for so long.

"Hey," she said quietly.

Peter didn't reply.

It was the usual movie, superhero thing. He hated how real that really was. While fighting some villain at a bridge, the guy mentioned that he knew who his girlfriend was. Peter didn't think he was serious, not really, but then he slowly turned to look at Peter, and the words that came from his mouth frightened him, made him pale and made him see red.

Gwen Stacy looks like a beautiful striper taking her shirt off, saw her right through her window.

It never occurred to him that Gwen would be put in danger like that, not ever, not once. But he knew what to do to keep her safe.

Mrs. Daren walked through the door before their little situation could get any more awkward.

When the bell rang, Peter hurried away and out the door.

Next, Science.

Tony Stark was accustomed to Roger's many worries. He was the leader, after all, the one that dealt with worries, and Tony didn't envy him for that. But he did envy the fact that he could rule over him and the rest of the Avengers, interrupt them whenever he wanted to.

While Tony was working in the lab, listening to rock music in the background, suddenly, his music was turned off. He stopped his work, waiting. What was it now?

Friday's voice filled the room, robotic and beautiful, "sir," she said, "Captin Rogers requests your presence in the living room,"

He was mildly annoyed at being interrupted while he worked. Tilting his head to the ceiling, he pursed his lips into a tight smile before speaking.

"Tell him to fuck off ya?"

"You have repeatedly told him to do so before yet you go up aimlessly, you might as well go up without a rude-" she paused, "he says it's important,"

"God," he rolled his eyes, "it's always important," he pushed back his chair and stood up, running his hands through his hair.

Yes, he envied Rogers ability to annoy him yet get him to listen to him aimlessly.

He trudged his way of the staircase into the elevator, waited patiently for it to get him to the floor he was needed at, then stepped out and began his trudging again until he came to a stop in the living room.

He noticed that everyone was there and everyone was waiting for him.

"Thank you, Tony," Rogers announced, "for taking your sweet damn time,"

A "language" was at the tip of his tongue but he just smiled and sat down beside Natasha, turning his sarcastic gaze on their leader.

"Your welcome, Capi, I'm surprised though, you usually hate it when I take my sweet damn time with things,"

Rogers rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the big screen TV in their living room.

The remote in his hands, he turned the TV on.

Their attention turned to the TV. It was the usual. Spiderman.

People were still freaking out about his latest rescue. A ferry, split in half, the TV closed in on Spiderman, his hands pulled back, his hands fisting on his own webs as he tried to bring both ferry parts back together.

Many webs had been attached to the split in the middle of the ferry to keep them from falling back into the ocean, the only thing that had been holding them together was Spiderman.

You could hear the passengers screaming, children and woman and men just screaming so loudly. Then suddenly, Spiderman let out a shout and he brought his hands together, and in the process, the two ferry parts were brought back together.

Tony had to admit, it was impressive. It made his wonder, how strong were those webs? And just how did this Spiderman make them?

The scene changed, Spiderman was swinging around the ferry securing the webs around it to keep both parts together before he stepped onto the dock and began pulling the ferry towards the dock. He helped the police and medics get the people off the ferry onto the dock. Many people clung to him, and you could see him holding some of them to him, comforting them.

The apparent men that got the ferry split in half were tossed onto the deck by Spiderman, the webs tied around their bodies keeping them from moving before any of the reporters could get to Spiderman, he was swinging away.

"The man doesn't stop there," a reporter stepped in front of the camera, letters appeared under her dating that day to be the morning after the incident, "an hour after the incident he was stopping another mugging in Queens and a few in Manhattan.

"The vigilant is shifting his image into a bigger hero than we thought he was. We haven't been able to get a chat with him yet but do hope to soon. He has saved countless lives, woman, men, children, thank him. My name is-"

Rogers paused the TV not letting the woman finish her sentence.

"Spiderman, a know vigilant, known for protecting Queens, sometimes swinging into Manhattan, he's been caught in action various times, but this, this shows his true strength," Rogers said.

"Huh," grunted Bruce, "so, Spiderman, who is he?"

"That we don't know," Natasha answered for Rogers, "S.H.I.E.L.D has been on his back for the past years and a half that he has been hero-ing, but so far, they can't get to him,"

"Yes," Rogers cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him, "nothing is known of the man behind the mask, all we can do is assume. He'd been caught smoking so he's obviously over twenty-one years old, he's male, there is no sign of him being a female in his figure. That's all we have, we don't know his height, all of his abilities, or even where those webs come from"

"So, what are we doing?" Tony asked.

Natasha glared at him, "don't tell me your that dense,"

"Explain dense," said Tony leaning towards her.

She ignored his comment and continued "This guy is a hero for now, but do you know how many villains used to be heroes before they decided hey! I have the power to take over the world. Why don't I try? We don't know who he is, what his morals are-"

"So what? We are just going to bother him because of some assumptions we have over a few small villains, that are all in prison, dead, or have gone back to their old selves. Why, " Tony stood, "because they all have a weakness, their weakness is their pain, their pain is the reason why they are trying to take over the world and make it a 'better place,' why bother him-"

"You don't understand," Rogers cut him off, "those other small villains, we knew who they were, their weaknesses, we knew them, knew where they lived, knew the power they wielded. They wielded very little. But their pride and determination got the better of them. So maybe this guy is good, but maybe he won't be good forever. We just need his identity, his location, his age, we need to know his abilities."

Tony slumped against his chair. "So, we are just gonna bring him back here, and question him?" his brows furrowed, "how are we going to find him."

"First of all, no" Clint said, "we've tried to get him to come willingly to be questioned by S.H.I.E.L.D before, but he wouldn't, he just swung away."

"It will be easy to find him, he's always just swinging around Queens, Clint and I have caught sight of him many times just swinging around. Getting cats out of trees, helping old ladies cross the street," said Natasha to Rogers, "but he seems to always sense us or something, because he'll look right at us, wave, then swing away. We've tried to trail him, but he's too fast, and stealthy, agile."

"Soooo," Tony cut in, "we're bringing him by force, you saw how strong that guy was right, and like you said he's stealthy, agile, fast-"

"So we all have to be there, and we all have to be prepared," Rogers cut him off.

"He's a good guy obviously," Wanda said.

They turned to look at her, waiting for an explanation.

"Well," she started. "He helps old ladies cross the street, gets cats out of trees. A gentle guy, don't you think?"

Tony sighed as they all began to chatter. In all honesty, he didn't want to bother this guy. He was just doing good, and here they were planning on bringing him in. He understood though, they didn't know anything about this guy, and with the power he had, he could be a dangerous threat if there ever was a chance he decided to switch sides.

He took the remote from Rogers and pressed play to the video. He searched for more Spiderman videos and to his surprise, he found many. He split the screen and searched for social media that might have belonged to Spiderman, anything, but he found none, just videoes.

Some were old, some were recent.

Spiderman talking a girl out of committing suicide, walking her down to the ground from a building, and hugging her to his chest until the police and her parents got there, at the time she was thirteen, at the end of the video, after the credits, it showed a picture of her, now fourteen and looking healthier and happier than she did when she was thirteen.

Spiderman stopping a car before it hit the side of the bus.

Spiderman catching a bus before it plummeted into the river below the road it was on.

Apparently, Spiderman wasn't someone who liked to be praised, you could see videos of people cheering for him after he saved someone or something, but he would swing away before he could be confronted with a thank you.

"Ah," Clint laughed, "they're selling Spiderman toys now!"

True, in many of the videoes, there was advertising for Spiderman toys. Tony had to admit, Spiderman had a good suit. The design was eye-catching and obviously let him be flexible, with all the swing, bends, flips he did, the suit had to be strong or else it would have ripped open by then.

Comparing the suit to the suit he first started using when he began crime-fighting, red spandex, a red and blue hoodie with a spider on the back of the hood, it was shit. Then, a year later, he was in a mildly improved suit, red, black and blue, the spiderweb design running along his chest to the middle where a black spider was stitched on.

His shoes were black leather boots, similar to rain boots. He wasn't wearing a hoodie, and his mask seemed to be apart of the suit. Yes, it was definitely better.

Spiderman though was a vigilant, and Tony hadn't thought much about this guy. Never really took him seriously.

Many videos showed him talking to muggers, dancing and joking around while he fought them.

Suddenly, Tony wanted to know who this person was.

"So," Tony paused the video, "when are we getting this guy?"

 


	2. I'm A Problem. Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, sure, smoking kills but-" Peter threw the cigarette to the floor, stomped it out, then spun, turning away from the Avengers," not smoking, doesn't prevent death, so by golly why shan't I live life and just smoke away before my endless death takes me away?" he threw back at Captain America.
> 
> Rogers raised an eyebrow at Spiderman who turned back to face them.
> 
> Tony did too, because hell, why hadn't he thought of that?

Pay attention to what people

Tell you when they are angry.

They have been dying to tell you that.

\- unknown.

The point in life is no point at all. You never know what you're going to do because you never even know if you will have the courage to do it. In life, you live, then, you die.

For such a long time Peter thought that he could live forever as long as he was careful.

He assumed that the only way people could die was if they were killed, either by stabbing, bullet wound, getting run over by a car, heart attack, basically just things that were effects of things you did.

Running into the wrong alleyway in the middle of the night, getting stabbed or shot by a mugger maybe, being killed in the process.

Not looking both ways before crossing the street, the effect, getting run over by a car, killed in the process.

Not being healthy, eating too much junk food, getting a heart attack, getting killed in the process.

Anything that could kill him he thought he could prevent from happening.

He thought that maybe he could live forever if he was careful, he thought that death only came if you ran towards it.

Then, his grandfather died of old age, his parents died on a casual day, in a plane crash unexpectedly, his aunt and uncle had died just because they had been in the elevator with a mugger who had a gun, yet Peter had lived.

He lived and they died, and he hadn't been trying to be careful, he found out in such a harsh way that death was inevitable. What was the point of living such a careful life when bad things happened anyway?

Parties, gatherings, concerts, field trips to exotic places, were all avoided because he feared death. He'd also begged to be homeschooled for so long because he saw the news on TV about school shootings.

These things that he had avoided had all been so fun, parties, gatherings, concerts, field trips, according to his friends, they had been fun, and no one had died. And going to a public school had been fun, once his aunt and uncle had convinced him to go, he had loved it.

He had loved middle school.

And he didn't die.

But he thought he would.

So growing up, he never imagined he would be running into a building that was on fire. It would have been a thought he would have fainted while having when he was thirteen.

Flames erupted from the windows, people screamed as they ran out of the building, people screamed inside the building, it was all they could do. The firemen were there, the ambulance was there, but they still needed more help.

The fire was growing harsher, it also seemed that the firemen just got there.

Now, only a couple of months ago he had completed his upgraded suit. The most noticeable upgrade was the image of his suit, something that had taken quite some time to design, to find the right material, but a hidden upgrade was inspired by an article about Tony Stark's Iron Man suit.

An AL (Artificial intelligence.)

"K.A.R.E.N," Peter said aloud, handing out fire escape masks to a woman before kneeling down to put on a smaller mask on her son so she could have both her hands-free to put her own mask on, "scan, see how many people are still inside."

"Are you gonna help the firemen, Spiderman?" the boy coughed before the mask was secured over his mouth. He sounded panicked, clutching a, what Peter realized was a Spiderman toy.

Did they really make those?

Peter half ignored him, patting his head," I guess," he said, getting closer to the building. He continued handing out masks on his way.

"K.A.R.E.N-"

"There is an assumption of fifty-seven people still inside, I believe that half have had their lungs filled with smoke already, more than half are on the last floor," said Karen in her robotic British accent, a touch he had made certain of her having.

Anyway, it was wonderful that he had decided to make his suit fireproof.

"Why the last floor," Peter said to himself as he ran inside the building.

K.A.R.E.N must have thought he was asking her because she explained, "the fire started on the third floor, inflamed it, it began spreading to the fourth floor, so the people who were on the fourth floor ran to the sixth floor when the fire enflamed the sixth floor, they moved to the eight, etc."

"How long has the fire been-" Peter kicked a door down and hurried to check if anyone was inside.

"Hello!" he shouted, "is anyone in here!?"

No answer.

"Anyway, K.A.R.E.N, how long has the fire been active,"

"A little over half an hour," K.A.R.E.N replied.

"The fire has been spreading slowly then," he knocked down another door.

Inside was a man and a woman, who was either his wife or girlfriend, in his arms. They were in their early twenties, he could tell by just look at them that they were Parisians. Their faces flooded with relief when he burst in.

"Hi," Peter grunted, "hi, hey, come, I'll get you out of here in a jiffy."

They nodded, looking too shocked to speak, but they followed him, their actions telling him they trusted him.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," he breathed, "we move on now. The fifth floor." he looked behind him at the couple who coughed, shaking their hand in front of their face to make sure the smoke didn't get in their eyes.

"Oh, ya- wait!"

He shuffled to get the masks out of his backpack, then handed them masks. He should have realized sooner that they didn't have the type of mask he did, which allowed him to breathe as if a fire wasn't raging around them.

He waited patiently for them to put the masks on before walking up the stairs again.

Peter broke down a few more doors, but this time he didn't forget to give the people he found inside masks. He had to carry the baby of a woman who already had a baby in her arms, but the child wailed so loud he felt his ears getting ready to bleed.

He tried rocking the child, to maybe get her to stop crying, but he was still kicking down doors, still handing out masks, checking to see if the people he found passed out on the grounds of their apartment were alive.

They finally got to the top floor, and by then the child had stopped crying and was at that point sleeping in his arms.

"Alright, anyone here has a fear of height and or falling?" he asked aloud raising his arm.

There was a good amount show of hands. Some people were carrying the passed out in their arms, so if they were afraid of heights, they couldn't show by a raise of a hand.

"Well, there's no reason to be, I'm definitely not going to let any of you fall, uh," he turned to the mother of the child he was holding," is your husband or boyfriend down there mam or no husband or boyfriend?"

She shook her head, "uh, no, no one down there for me,"

He nodded, "well, I guess, okay, so, come here ya?"

The woman stepped forward, holding her other child to her chest. He wrapped his arm around her waist, let an end of his web stick to the ground of the top floor, before he opened a window, stepped out of it, then he began falling down, the woman and her two children in his arms.

The woman screamed, tucking her neck away into his shoulder.

Their feet met the ground, quickly, one of the firemen and paramedics hurried towards them. The woman shakily dislodged herself from him. He handed the fireman the baby he had been holding, then began crawling up the wall to the top floor to get the rest.

Two hours later, everyone was on the ground, the paramedics attending to the burns of the sleeping people. Peter left without another word, his shoulders tired from carrying people down, especially the ones asleep, they were harder to carry down. While most people had their weight on the web rope, the weight of the sleeping, was all on him.

He found himself stopping one time, to grab a purse snatcher, but that was it.

Peter saw the man, mid-thirties, a drunken man, many times, Peter remembered so many times webbing that man up, getting him sent to jail.

"God, you know, cigarette's, beers, such a waste of money!" he exclaimed as he kicked the backside of the man with his feet as he swung toward him. Peter landed on his feet, turned, then quickly he did a good job of webbing the man to the side of a wall before grabbing the purse of the woman who was running towards them.

Her heels made odd echoing click, click, click, sounds as she hurried to him.

Peter held the purse out to her as she caught her breathe, bending over, putting her hands on her knees, her breaths rapid and struggling to come out of her.

"Uh," Peter started, awkwardly. She was still trying to catch her breath. "this yours?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she huffed, glaring at the man webbed to the wall to the right of her, "it is," she gave a labored breath, "thank you," she added.

The woman took her purse from his extended hand, pulled out an inhaler, then used it.

Ah, yes, the woman had asthma.

The awkwardness was becoming noticeable to both of them, so, he ran onto the wall, giving himself a boost before he started swinging through Queens again.

He landed on a blue-tinted building, sitting on the ledge.

Then, he took out a cigarette from a box he had in his pocket.

Now, Peter knew he was a hypocrite. Telling the man that cigarettes were a waste of money, yet, he held one between his fingers, he lit it, he put it between his lips and took a slow, long drag from it.

"Oh, god," he murmured falling back. It was like, so much better than sex.

The difference between him and that man though, when it came to cigarettes, was that that man snatched purses, but instead of buying food, he bought cigarettes, beer, when to bars, called hookers, just overall wasted whatever money he had on the filthy little sticks of pleasure.

Peter, ah, but Peter had some money to waste. Peter went to sleep late, slept for maybe only an hour (actually he hadn't slept in forty-seven hours) then Peter got up early in the morning, went to school, came home, dressed into his Spiderman suit, risked his life for his people then repeated the routine again.

God, he deserved to smoke a cigarette once every six months.

Beer, whiskey, those things did nothing for him so, they were a definite no go when he sought out reassurance of the kind things in life.

"Those things kill you know that right?" came a voice to the left of him.

Well, if it wasn't Captain America.

Peter stumbled to a stand from his previous position on the pavement floor of the roof, his eyes growing wide, his mouth coming agape. He probably looked like an idiot, but he thanked whatever holy spirit existed, if one even existed, that he was wearing a mask, so it didn't matter what he looked like. They didn't see.

"Oh," he paused, "what?"

"He said, 'those things kill you know that right?" came another voice.

Shit, the rest of them were there too.

The Avengers, well most of them, Black Widow stood next to Hawkeye, Hawkeye stood next Iron Man, Captain America, well, Captain America stood where a Captain would, in the front of them.

It was Iron Man, Tony Stark, that repeated Captain America's wise words.

"Well, sure, smoking kills but-" Peter threw the cigarette to the floor, stomped it out, then spun, turning away from the Avengers," not smoking, doesn't prevent death, so by golly why shan't I live life and just smoke away before my endless death takes me away?" he threw back at Captain America.

Rogers raised an eyebrow at Spiderman who turned back to face them.

Tony did too, because hell, why hadn't he thought of that?

"So, it doesn't kill you, but it does kill other people, lung cancer remember? And other-"

"Don't bring that up, look, just don't. I feel horrible enough. Anyway," the Spiderling stood on the ledge, spreading his arms. "What have I done to bring the attention of the mighty Avengers to myself? It's not the smoking thing is it?"

Rogers sighed, "look, Spiderman-"

"Ah, wait, I'm really unnerved with these two around," Spiderman pointed at Clint and Natasha, "hi! God, when was the last time you almost gave me a heart attack by following me around everywhere I went? Popping out of corners, trying to pounce on my bod."

Natasha glared, "we have some question we need you to answer Spiderman-"

"Sorry, I'm horrible at lying, so, please, don't ask me any questions," he cut her off.

"Look-"

"I'm looking-"

"Spiderman-"

"Yes?"

Tony sighed, stepping forward, "Spiderling-"

"I know you know my name, don't purposely insult me like that!"

"Okay!" Natasha shouted, "look, Spiderman, we have some questions that you need to answer, simple ones, then, we'll let you be on your way."

Spiderman stared at her, his head tilted to his side, his finger came up to tap his chin, his hands on his hips, he looked deep in thought.

"Okay, look-" Tony said.

They were all getting frustrated with the kid, the kid knew, Tony would practically feel the smirk under that mask.

"Said it before, I'm looking!"

That was the last straw for Clint apparently, because the next thing that happened was him lifting his bow and shooting at Spiderman from behind him. A sneaky move. Not good enough though.

Spiderman stepped to the side, reached out, gripped the arrow in his hand, then proceeded to touch the tip of the arrow. His body shook a little before he pulled his hand away.

"Huh," he slammed the arrow on his knee, breaking it in half, "taser arrow, should add that to my web fluid, shock, that will be more interesting" he murmured throwing the broken arrow on the ground. "So that thing they said online, about you never missing a shot, not true!"

"How did you-" Clint started, his eyes narrowed at Spiderman.

"Spiderman, it's best you come in peace-" Rogers growled.

"Ah, ah, ah-" Spiderman held his finger up at Rogers' face, "not after that," he pointed at the arrow on the ground, "now, so with all due respect, I have better things to do so good afternoon,"

He gave a swift salute to Rogers, stepped onto the edge of the building, then fell back, as if the building wasn't fifteen stories high.

"Ah, shit," Natasha growled, jumping onto Tony's back.

"Is he really that hard of a chase-" Tony muttered readying his boosters.

"You wouldn't know," Clint growled, also lifting himself onto Tony's Iron Man suit," fifty agents were on his tail, all good enough, chased him from Queens to The Bronx, to Brooklyn, that guy never seems to tire" he paused, "seriously, how did he see my arrow coming!"

"Same way he noticed us following him. The same way he escaped all those agents," Natasha grumbled.

"Let's move," Rogers said, stealing Tony's words right out of his mouth.

They did.

Tony shot off in Spiderman's direction. He was swinging away, his movements fast. He looked over his shoulder and God- Tony swore he waved, shook his head, then laughed.

Maybe he could get away from Natasha, Clint, fifty agents, but he didn't get away that easily from Tony, who had Friday scanning for each of his movements, letting him be just one step ahead, and Rogers, who was- Tony didn't like to admit it- smart, fast, and maybe just as agile at Spiderman.

They cornered him on a hotel building.

"Look, kid-" Tony sighed as he landed on the building, Natasha, Clint, jumping off him and moving quickly to surround the guy as did Rogers who stood behind Spiderman, his hard gaze on the kid.

"What makes you think I'm a kid? Is it my voice, my" he stroke a pose, "body." He stood straight, his hands on hips, "I don't get it, is that some type of mechanism, you think it makes you feel above me or something? Intimidating in a, what's his next move kind of way? Seriously, I'd like to know. Now there is a way people try to show they don't give a fuck about you, and they do it by getting your name wrong every other time, it sets out a sign that says, that's how little you mean to me' is that like similar to what your doing right now or-"

Natasha lunged at him, but to their surprise, Spiderman moved aside and when she moved to grab him, he hit her arm away, shoved at her shoulder making her stumble away.

"Am I reading a little into your senseless "kid," am I? Wait, is it like a calming word,"

"What," Tony scowled, "what do you mean calming word!"

"Like, you feel intimidated by another person, so you call them by their last names so that they know that you know, they are not worth being called by their first name. It's like when a really self-conscious person often puts other people down so they can feel better about themselves, is that why your calling me Kid because you know that I could rip that suit right off you, and break every one of your bones?"

"Is that a threat?" snapped Captain America.

"No," Spiderman shook his head, "just a suggestion,"

"A suggestion?" Clint pried in.

"Yes, one that screams, 'leave me the fuck alone'"

Natasha, who had gotten herself of the ground, kicked at him. Tony could tell she was putting all her energy into kicking him in the head. Spiderman wasn't having any of that though. He grabbed her foot with his hand, pushed her back, and as she stumbled, he shot a web at her. She moved quickly, rolling away before he could stick her to the ground like they'd seen him do too many of the criminals he caught.

Tony didn't a chance to see where the webs were coming from like he so desperately wanted to, but Tony pushed that thought aside and moved quickly, raising his hand and shooting at Spiderman.

"Take a hint!" Spiderman shouted as moved quickly off to the side, dodging his blast as well as one of Clint's arrows.

Rogers sprinted, jumped off the air conditioning unit, and threw his shield at him.

Bad idea. Spiderman caught it, then used it to shield himself from Tony's blasts, Clint's arrows, as well as Natasha's kicks.

"Give that back-" Rogers snapped.

"My pleasure," Spiderman quipped before he tossed the shield back at Rogers, hitting him in the stomach. Rogers doubled over.

"Ha!" Tony couldn't help but bark out.

Spiderman swiftly dodged Natasha's kick then grabbed her ankle, he pulled her against him, let go of her ankle, grabbed a hold of her arm, then shot a web at her, the webs wrapping around her body, then, he dropped her to the ground.

"Sorry, you're just really good at fighting, and I have a play date soon, so I can't be getting kidnapped,"

Rogers tried his trick again, maybe he thought that because Spiderman was occupied with Natasha that he could get a better hit at Spiderman with his shield, but the Spider guy jumped high, got on the shield and gravity pulled them down.

They were all upon him then, Clint shooting his arrows, Tony shooting at the guy he was now mildly annoyed with, and Rogers was throwing punches. But now it was Spiderman, with his fast reflexes, Captain America's shield, and his webs.

"God, look, I'm gonna be late-"

Natasha still cocooned in his webs, kicked out at Spiderman's feet making him fall over with a small 'oof!'.

He fell face forward, but quickly rolled onto his back and was about to get back up when Clint shot an arrow at him, hitting him in the chest.

"Well-"

"N-n-n-o-p-p-e-e" Spiderman chocked out, with a small chuckle, "I-I-I get i-t, Karma's a bi-tch!"

Then he passed out.

"God!" Tony barked, stepping out of his suit "even when he loses, he's still got the last laugh!"

He felt Natasha's glare, though she couldn't move, so she couldn't smack him on the back of his head even if she wanted to.

They put Spiderman in a white room. It was similar, of course, to the one that they had for Bruce. This guy was powerful, fast, sneaky, they needed to keep him somewhere he couldn't escape from.

Bruce gave him something so he would stay asleep, so when Rogers carried him inside and lay him on the white bed, the guy didn't jolt away to attack him.

There was a huge glass window to the right of where Spiderman lay so they could watch him, see if he tried to do anything to escape. Bruce sat behind the glass ready to install the security measures once they were done with the guy and out the door.

"We have to take off his suit, his mask, we don't know how he controls them, maybe they activate and-"

"Where do the webs come from?" Tony cut Natasha off, walking towards spiderman, picking up his wrist, pinching the material of the costume. There seemed to be nothing under it.

"Tony-" Natasha started.

"It's better we put your curiosities aside until later," Rogers muttered nodding at Bruce.

They had no idea what would happen if they tried to peel the suit off themselves. It was of good quality. Bruce nodded, standing from where he sat, coming inside the room.

"We don't know if maybe the suit only responds positively to the ower, it could set off an explosive, or make some backup calls. Maybe the guy has a friend. There's no way he's been doing all his Spiderman action alone. Maybe he has some backup help."

"It seems like something you would make, Tony," Natasha commented.

Maybe any other time Tony would have been offended, if the suit hadn't been this good he would have been, but the suit was good. Where the webs came from, he had no idea, but they most likely came from the suit.

It was something he would build, but of course, he didn't build it.

Rogers reached for the mask, but Natasha stopped him.

"Let's do the harder part first, taking the suit off, then we'll take the mask off." She let go of Rogers' hand so she could use both hands to turn Spiderman over.

There was no zipper on the back. They ran there hands down his legs, down his back, but there was nothing. They couldn't peel it off from the neck down, it would rip, actually the material just couldn't rip.

Then Natasha found something.

His chest. The spider on his chest was a different material, harder, but still thin enough.

"What is this-" she murmured lifting her hand from it.

"FRIDAY," Tony called, "scan the suit. Search for anything that might strike at us if we maybe try and take it off,"

"Yes, Sir." was Friday's reply.

She must have spent a good minute scanning before Tony called out to her again.

"FRIDAY?"

"The suit won't allow any information," she replied.

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked.

"The suit, it seems, is protected by some type of Artificial Intelligence. I can not make out anything that might attack you, Sir, the suit is too well protected for me to tell."

Natasha, Rogers, and Bruce shared a look.

Tony really could have built this suit.

"Wait- seriously!?" Tony snapped looking up at the ceiling in disbelief, "Friday, try again- guys there is no way this suit is that protected-"

"Sir the access is denied," FRIDAY cut him off.

Fuck.

"Okay, then let's do the easier part first, take the mask off Nat."

She nodded and reached forward pulling the mask off the guy's head, fisting it in her hand.

"What the-"

Rogers was so surprised he stumbled back, grabbing Bruce's arm to steady himself.

Tony who had been staring the ceiling, still very shocked with the fact that Friday couldn't get into the suit, turned to see why they gasped. Then, he understood.

"Oh shit-"

He probably looked like a fool, his eyes widening with surprise, and his mouth falling open, ready to nest flies.

A child. Most definitely a child was under that mask, laying on that bed, unconscious on heavy doses of drugs that Bruce had given him. A child with brown hair, pale skin covered in yellow, purple, blue bruises that looked days long, lay there.

Tony thought he was maybe fourteen. And that made him all the more shocked.

Also, Tony thought, there was no way he made that suit.

0o0o0o0o 

The kid woke up an hour later.

Natasha, Rogers, Bruce, Clint, Sam, Barnes, and Tony were sitting behind the glass window when he roused. They still hadn't managed to take his suit off, so he woke up in his suit, looked straight at them, then threw himself to the side, off the bed.

Tony was the first to stand.

"What's he doing?" said Sam, who was second to stand with the rest of them.

Natasha reached for the door handle but Bruce stopped her, looking considerate and deep in thought.

"Wait, Tony ask Friday to look him over,"

Tony's brows furrowed, "what?"

"Just do it."

"Fine, Friday!" Tony said, "what's Spiderman doing,"

"Sir, it seems that Spiderman is in great distress, I believe that he's having an anxiety attack."

"Shit," Tony was the one to open the door so he could step inside.

Spiderkid was leaning against the wall when Tony rounded the corner of the bed to look at him. He refused to make eye contact, instead kept his eyes downcast, on his hands which were still on his knees which were pulled up to his chest.

"Hi," Sam said stupidly, softly, as if he were talking to a child, and technically, he was.

Spiderkid cleared his throat.

"You know," he said groggily, "you'll have to torture me to even get it into my head to want to answer your dumb questions, but know I won't."

"We aren't going to torture you," Sam consoled, but the boy didn't seem to need any comforting, he seemed to have accepted that they were going to hurt him.

"You already are," Spiderman muttered as he pushed himself off the bed, "anyway, you're not going to let me leave until I answer you, might as well kill me, I won't answer any of your questions,"

Natasha and Clint shared a look.

"Why do you find being in white room torture," she asked him.

The kid glared at her, making himself comfortable again on the ground.

"Where's my mask?" he asked them.

"You think we're going to answer your question when you can't answer ours?" Natasha snapped.

"You kidnapped me, you have something that is mine, you drugged me, and worst of all, you put me in a white room, I don't have to answer your questions-"

"Actually, yes you do, it's a rule that every super-" Natasha started but once again she was stopped. This time it was by Sam.

"It's early morning, we'll be back with breakfast."

Tony glanced unsurely at Sam but nodded.

"Will you poison it?" Spiderkid asked.

"What? No," Bruce said his eyes narrowing.

"Ya- well, then I don't want it," Spiderkid shrugged, "again, I'm not leaving here till I answer your questions right? If not then, I'd rather die fast."

They all sighed, glancing unsurely at each other as the boy came to a stand.

He hit his chest twice with his palm and the suit loosened from his body, falling to the ground. Under, he wore black sweats and a plain dark blue polo.

"I believe you were trying to get this off me? What were you going to do with my suit?" he asked clutching the suit to his chest.

"We just wanted to get you comfortable in bed-" Bruce started.

"I wanted to see how you made it," Tony cut him off, "I mean, it's an impressive enough suit, the fact that my own AI couldn't hack it, because of your AI-"

"Karen saves the day again," Spiderman muttered.

"Karen? Is that the name of your AI?" Tony asked him.

Spiderkid didn't reply.

"We'll be back with breakfast," Sam said.

Maybe they thought the kid was just kidding, but he wasn't, he didn't eat, he just silently stared at the food then once again threw himself off the bed to lean against the wall beside it, where they couldn't see him through the glass windows.

They'd decided not to put any cameras in the room. Or anything including technology inside the room, this guy obviously knew his way around technology, they didn't want him hacking his way out.

What surprised them the most was the complete differences between Spiderman when his mask was on and Spiderman without his suit or mask on.

He'd handed over his suit without a hassle. And even though Tony wanted to examin it, the suit wouldnt allow him in at all. Friday could do nothing as well.

The Spiderman they had been fighting, he was, without a doubt, cocky, but smart, no, he was confident, yes, that's the word that summed him up. Confident. But also, welcoming.

This guy, he was harsh with his glare, his words, lastly, his stance. He was stubborn, and though they wouldn't admit it, he was intimidating in a way. Though he was just a kid, tall, maybe 5' 10", he had a fine handsome face, eyebrows that he furrowed, eyes that he narrowed, lips that he pursed.

Under the mask, they didn't know how he looked, but he always sounded cheerful, so Tony assumed he was smiling half the time.

"Sir," Friday spoke, "Spiderman is in great distress, he's showing intense signs of frustration, it appears he has become quite annoyed with the white room he has been situated in, he's expressing his unsatisfaction through curse words."

"Why does he hate white rooms so much? God," Tony said as he stood from his seat, annoyed with the picky, most likely, teenager.

He opened the door, walked inside, expecting to see Spiderman in the same position he was earlier, his knees pulled up to his chest, sitting against the wall beside his bed.

Instead, he lay on his back on the floor beside the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Tony glanced back at the group behind the window.

"Hey, look, kid-"

"If you get me out of this room, I don't care if you put me in a room painted of blood, I seriously wouldn't care if the room was barely big enough to fit my body, as long as it isn't white, if you take me to any room, any, that doesn't have white walls, I'll comply, I'll answer your stupid questions, j- just, please."

Tony cocked his eyebrow at him in surprise. God, he really must have hated white rooms so much to give up his stubbornness.

His voice was groggy, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, his face was scrunched up as if he was in an enormous amount of pain.

"We'll have to er- put you to sleep, we don't trust that you won't fight us if we take you to another room," Tony replied, holding his hand out.

The kid glanced at his hand maybe considering taking a hold of it but instead rolled onto his side.

"Fine," the kid replied tiredly, pulling his knees up to his chest, "fine."

For a moment Tony just stood there, staring down at him, feeling concerned about the boy. He looked pale, he looked in pain. He seriously couldn't believe that after so little time in a white room, this kid would give in so easily.

What was his problem with white rooms?

Tony walked away. Once he was on the other side of the glass he announced, "we're moving him to another room,"

"What?" said Rogers sharing a glance with Natasha.

"For good reason, of course, Capsicle," Tony rolled his eyes at Rogers who glared back at him, his expression that of the one he had that day when Tony first met Bruce and had poked his side to try to get a reaction out of him, or in better words, to try and get the Hulk out. "He's promised to answer our questions solely if we move him to any colored room."

"That's it?" Natasha said sounding suspicious, "you really think-"

"He seemed pretty desperate to get out of there Nat," Bruce cut her off moving away to get a syringe, "even if he's lying, there's a chance he's not. Anyway, it's best we move him anyway, he's just a kid, we don't want him more distressed than he already is,"

Bruce ended up not having to drug him at all because when they entered the room they were hit with a strong smell and they found the kid was passed out on the floor, throw up on the floor beside his body.

Peter hated white rooms.

No, maybe that was too much of a strong word, but the definition of hate was to feel intense passionate dislike for something. That was what he felt towards any white rooms; calming as they were, he didn't like being calm.

When he was calm he could think, when he thought, he thought bad things.

The Avengers were on the other side of the glass door, free to come and go as they wanted, which made him angry. He wanted to throw his bed through the glass window then run, not give a care in the world if they were hurt. But what a terrible thing that was, to not care about someone's well being.

They probably wouldn't get hurt though, they were the Avengers after all.

That didn't matter, he was getting a headache, the silence was becoming too loud, the white room was becoming too blinding, the fact that there was a black room on the other side made him drool, he wanted to scream, he wanted to throw up.

Being Spiderman made his sensories overload, so his headaches were worse than most people's, the pain on his sides from laying on his side was more noticeable. The fact that he had put off eating for four days, had bearly drank anything, had smoked, made his situation much worse. He was vulnerable to these people. Weak.

On the bright side, he healed fast, so the minute he woke up in a blood red room, laying in a dark blue bed, Bruce Banner at the edge of his bed, he didn't want to scream anymore, he felt no more pain, he was fine, though his stomach was still so empty you could store a whole house in it.

He meant to keep his promise, even though these were the people who kidnapped him, put him in that room, took away the only part of his suit that could get him out of there, he was extremely grateful that they gave him another room. Yes, he would answer any of their questions.

The painful fact that one of the many questions they would probably ask him was who he was, which they most likely would, was killing him.

"Hey," said Bruce Banner softly, and Peter felt suddenly younger, like a two-year-old. He sat up, holding his head to his hand.

"Come," Bruce said before Peter could speak, "we're having breakfast in the dining area,"

Peter didn't move at first, confused with his demand, but he was weak, even though he was refreshed from sleep, he was still tired, so he made no protest, anyway, had already given up his 'I'll die before I answer any of your questions,' so might as well eat.

A part of him, the kid part of him, was ready to freak out when Bruce held out his hand to help him up, but the part of him that resented this man who was holding him hostage, the part of him who couldn't help but mistrust the man, hesitated, batted his hand away and stood up on his own.

"Um, kid, I have to say that well, we don't trust that you won't run off," said Bruce Banner, sounding cautious.

"I will right after I answer your questions, but otherwise, I'll stay put," Peter replied.

"The thing is, we don't trust you'll keep your promise-"

Peter groaned, his migraine reappearing again, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nevermind then, I'll just stay here," Peter turned, ready to walk back to his bed when Bruce Banner stopped him, stretched his arm out, and shook his head.

"No, look, sorry, come," he said.

But Peter's migraine was already bad, the idea of being around other people wasn't at all appealing, so he shook his head the came up with a suggestion because, in all honesty, he didn't want to go back to bed and drown in his migraine.

He always tried to stay moving, he couldn't sit still, stand still, he had to be moving, he couldn't let his thoughts overrun him too much. He didn't like sleep anyway, he wasn't like most of his school mates who loved sleep so much they said with so much emotion that they would marry sleep if they could.

No, staying in bed was just another downside.

"I need something for a migraine, something strong," Peter mumbled, kneeling and rubbing his forehead.

"Fine, fine, you'll eat breakfast with us then?" said Bruce, sounding hopeful.

"If you give me something strong enough," Peter grumbled in reply, he almost groaned in pain.

He always thought his migraines before he was Spiderman were bad and too common, then he became Spiderman, figured out his fast healing abilities considered that he maybe wouldn't have headaches anymore, but now they were just ten times worse. And he figured out that the usual two Advil pills didn't do shit for him anymore, and the usual six Peter took got rid of his migraines but made his stomach clench painfully for half an hour.

Bruce came back with a white drink. Peter stared at it, bewildered.

"It'll get rid of the migraine," Bruce said.

"And make me say my deepest darkest secrets aloud?" Peter replied.

Bruce sighed, "no," he rolled his eyes, "no, it won't,"

"Well then," Peter took it from Bruce, examining it a little like any smart person would when introduced to something new, before taking a few long sips from the white liquid.

His migraine seemed to take the hint, he didn't want it there, just like that, it was gone. Peter almost thought he never even had one.

"How did you make this stuff?" Peter looked up at Bruce Banner in awe because this stuff was amazing.

Bruce Banner looked thoughtful.

"I'll tell you how to make this-" he took the glass of white liquid from Peter, lifting it up to his face with a little smile, "if you tell me how to make that spider webbing of yours,"

Peter was the one who was thoughtful now. Sure, this stuff was amazing, but the spider webbing was something he had only finished making, it was actually an idea that belonged to his parents.

"Not too sure," Peter stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his pant legs, "I may be desperate enough,"

Bruce smiled, at least he'd gotten somewhere.


	3. The Simplist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're grateful for what you have
> 
> Instead of being upset Over what "you deserve"
> 
> Life gets really good.
> 
> \- Gary Vaynerchuk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Peter's parent's died when he was around five and in a plane crash and obviously I didn't change the fact that they died in a plane crash but I obviously changed the fact that Peter was five.

They all kind of marveled at the sight of a six-year-old jumping into the arms of Nick Fury who merely arched an eyebrow at the little kid who pated his eyepatch. 

"Parker," he nodded, lifting the kid higher in his arms, "how'd you run this time?" 

The kid didn't reply, just kissed Fury's cheek then wiggled in the man's arms until Fury took the hint and placed him back on his feet on the ground. Parker shot one glance at Thor, Natasha, Tony, Steve, and Bruce before he ran out of the room again. 

"Well go on," Fury motioned towards the door, "follow the kid, he _can_ run, so you'll have to catch up," he mumbled then walked the other direction. The Avengers that were there glanced unsurely at each other before walking out of the room and glancing down the hallway at the kid who was very far ahead. 

"Do you really recruit that young?" Bruce mumbled walking ahead. Natasha ignored him and ran ahead catching up to Parker. They all walked far enough behind to see Natasha take Parker's hand to slow him down, making Parker smile up at her. 

_Who the hell was this kid?_

"Mama had hiccups," he said with a skip in his step, though slower because he obviously didn't want to rip off Natasha's hand, though that wouldn't have been possible the kid was really small, "every other ten seconds it seemed like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, said it hurt a lot, but Papa snuck up beside her and scared her, and she struck him in the eye, he's wearing the bruised eye like an expensive ring though, proud that he got  _the Mary Parker_ startled, he got rid of her hiccups, though" he giggled, shaking his head, "I'm confused that she didn't shoot him though," 

Natasha laughed, "I remember when Clint tried," she replied with a smile," she didn't hesitate to take out her Glock, we all thought he was dead for sure, but she just struck him in the eye with it,"  

His eyes widened with excitement, "did she knock him out!?" he questioned. 

They walked into a glass-walled room, and before she could answer, Clint himself was answering his question as he tossed the kid onto his shoulder. 

"she didn't knock me out, just helped me fall asleep is all," he grumbled glaring at Natasha when she replaced his answer with the obvious truth, "which means she knocked him out," 

He giggled again, "really!?" 

"No," Clint said. 

At the same times as Natasha said, "seven hours, he was ' _asleep'"_

Tony had never really heard her talk like that to anyone. So gently, and softly and childishly. It amused him but also surprised him that this child could bring that out of her. 

A man stepped into the room, and Tony assumed that he was the  _Papa_ of the boy. Besides the two parts of the three-piece suit, he was wearing he also accessorized a black eye, proudly it seemed, or maybe he was just grinning at the sight of his son, who shrieked happily at the sight of his father. 

God, Tony had never even felt a ting of joy at the sight of his father, and it was the same for his father, Tony assumed, but here there was a scene proving that it could have been possible. 

"Clint, look, I'm awake!" he grinned. 

Parker giggled again, jumping out of Clint's arms to run at his father, who caught his son when he jumped in the air at him, "your mother was so small, and Clint as so not, and the way he shrieked, it was hilarious, I'm pretty sure I had Karen record it-" 

"No!," Clint shouted, "no, it's, that isn't necessary, Richard, Richard, don't just...meet the Avengers," 

Tony shook Richards' hands and when Richard moved on to shake the rest, Tony saw out of the corner of his eye, a pretty woman walk into the room, and only look at Parker, smiling softly as she held out her hand. 

Richard turned and excused himself from them to walk over to his son and kiss his forehead, and then give the woman Tony assumed was his wife a quick peck on the lips. Then the woman and her son left, but not before Parker met Tony's eyes and smiled at him. 

"So, Parker?" Tony said, for some reason interested in the kid. 

Richard glanced at him, "yes?" 

"Oh, your son," Tony said awkwardly. 

Richard smiled at the mention of his son, "Peter, his name is Peter, Fury calls him Parker though, just because Peter calls him Nicky,"

"He's-" Tony didn't know how to finish the sentence, then he ended with, "great," 

Richard beamed with pride, at the subtle compliment, and Tony almost felt jealous, because god, if someone had answered like that about Tony, his father would have sneered. 

"Yes, he is," Richard smiled, "I love him to death,"

And that was more than Tony's father had ever said to him. 

He never saw the kid again. A few months later he found out that Richard and Mary died in a plane crash, but Peter's information was so protected by S.H.I.E.L.D Tony could find no information about the kid. All he knew was that the kid survived the plane crash. 

* * *

 

"Peter Parker,"

Bruce and Natasha reacted accordingly. 

Natasha normally wouldn't react at all, but Peter Parker had always made her feel things she'd never felt before. Because when Natasha had first met the bubbly little boy he had been a year old, and she'd just escaped out of the grasp of the Red Room, and everyone besides Clint looked at her as if she were a monster, except Richard and Mary Parker and their son. 

Naive, that's all she thought he was, but then one day he walked in on him sitting in front of an agent and the agent told him. 

"She's done horrible things,"

Peter blinked up at him, "like killing kittens," he said softly, tilting his head like a confused puppy. 

He shook his head, "people, she's killed good people who didn't deserve to die," 

And Natasha expected the child to cry, to turn and look at her like the rest did as if she were a monster, but he just continued to stare at the agent. 

"But she hasn't killed kittens," he repeated. 

The agent sighed, "No, I don't believe so, but I really don't understand how that's worse than killing people Peter," 

And Peter didn't reply with something childish like Natasha had expected he would instead he shifted and sat on his knees, "Kittens are innocent, have lived only a year, and have never done anything bad beside kill mice, People, have lied, cheated, bragged, and hurt others before. In a way, when you kill kittens you kill the purest things in the world, and you know that they are pure, but when you kill people, they could be the cruelest people in the world. Therefore, it's always worse if you kill kittens, and lesser if you kill people, but that's beside the point because aunty Nat  _used to_ kill good people, now she kills the bad guys, Papa said a person's past does not define them and my Papa is _really_ smart about people," 

Natasha didn't hear the rest, though she knew he was just talking about his father, and how great he was, she only cared about what he'd just said. And now she knew he just wasn't being naive, but logical. And forgiving. 

She'd never love a kid more than him. 

So that's why she flinched, and her heart hurt when he looked confused, and... and... and Natasha already  _knew_ he had survived the plane crash that killed his parents with only a head injury and amnesia. She knew he didn't really remember anything from when he was under six, his medical files had noted that the faces of his parents, their names, his aunts and uncles names, were forgotten by him. He even forgot his own name. 

They, his aunt and uncle, never knew of Natasha's or Clint's or any of the S.H.I.E.L.D's agents that had had a special place in their hearts for Peter, they also had no idea that Mary and Richard would actually bring Peter to work with them. 

Natasha assumed that when they refilled Peter on his personal information, they simply spoke of his parents. 

Bruce reacted instantly, with wide eyes and pursed lips and uncertain glances towards Natasha. 

He himself had only caught glimpses of Peter Parker, but he'd met Peter's father, and Bruce thought he definitely took after him in fighting style. Always talking. But he definitely took after his mother. A silent woman most of the time, but when she wasn't, she was always snappy, a little rude, a little mean, kind most of the time, if you didn't get on her bad side. 

Peter sneered at them and motioned for them to continue. 

But Nat stood and opened the door, "your location," she asked him.

Glaring Peter muttered, "Queens, forest hills gardens, I live at the end of the street, the biggest land, the large gates around it so no one can even see the house, that's my location," 

Natasha already knew where Mary and Parker lived, but she thought he'd be living with his aunt and uncle. Did they move into Mary and Richard's home? 

Shaking her head Natasha shrugged, "alright then, we'll continue this tomorrow," 

Peter blinked up at her, his eyes wide with confusion, and his face filled with disbelief. 

"What?!" he hissed standing up as well, "what, no, you can't keep me here till tomorrow-" 

"We've got to," Natasha said blandly, "we have more questions," 

"Then ask them now!" Peter said impatiently, "I'm missing school for this, I'm missing work for this-" 

"Too bad, you should have complied when S.H.I.E.L.D called you before, we'll write you a note if you tell us what school you go to," Natasha offered, "but otherwise, you're not going anywhere," 

Peter stared at her in horror and astonishment, sputtering, and Bruce thought if he weren't so shocked, he'd be angry. 

Bruce didn't know what Natasha was doing, but he wasn't about to question her, so he stood up and took Peter by the elbow and walked him back to his room. 

"I can have Tony call your school, we could make something up," Bruce also offered up, "look, I promise we're not going to keep you here forever-" 

"Sure doesn't seem like it!" Peter snapped," and the note doesn't matter Dr. Banner, the fact that I'm missing work, both school work and  _work work,_ is what _matters_!"  

Bruce winced, "okay, ya, that's bad, look, I'm sure Natasha won't be keeping you here for that long, it's Monday, if we're keeping you here till tomorrow , then you'll only be missing two days, which isn't that much work to catch up on-" 

"My school is Midtown High, school of science and technology, Dr. Banner, and all my classes are AP classes, I'm also on the academic decathlon team, so two days is like missing out on two months of school work for me," Peter groaned, "god, MJ is going to fucking kill me!" 

"MJ?" Bruce dared ask. 

"Captain of the decathlon team, if you think I'm mean, you should meet her," he looked thoughtful for a moment, "she did sneak me a jelly filled donut last week though during AP physics, so- of no, but it was red jelly, and I'm more of a blackberry jelly fan-" 

"Okay, what about work," Bruce cut him off before he could ramble on any longer. 

Peter groaned again, "I co-run a store that sells things like sustainable bathroom products, utensils, water bottles, things like that, I work there on the weekends, and I run the online shop, I just missed two full days of work, thanks. To. You,"

Bruce couldn't feel worse. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: June 18 
> 
> Maybe. Just maybe.


	4. Keep Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, sorry, but I think I'll try to write a much longer chapter next time.

Clint had never met anyone like Richard or Mary Parker. 

Complete opposites that were madly in love.

Mary was seemingly the most pessimistic woman in the world, with a dark sense of humor, low expectations, and an unimpressed look she gave everyone, everywhere she went. She was a snarky, impatient and a stubborn woman who didn't take no for an answer but if her answer was no it wouldn't change. She was a virologist and when she wasn't in a lab she was being an agile, stealthy, and clever agent on the field. 

This is where she and her husband were opposites.

Richard was an optimist, naturally charming, who was smart enough to not expect anything from anyone, but believed that there was good in everyone. If you knew him, you'd have to have received a wink from him at least one time, the entire time you knew him. He was an engineer, who was great at making enemies underestimate him with his chattiness before he kicked their asses. (Clint had seen it enough times to know Richard wasn't the completely innocent puppy he was made out to be) 

They had a son. It was around 2001, and it was a sunny day in August, on the eleventh day of the month. Mary told a grinning Richard to go to hell for the hundredth time when Peter was born, and Richard cried because Peter was so perfect. Mary just smiled. 

Instantly, Clint saw the resemblance in Peter to Richard and Mary. 

From birth to age seven, Peter, Clint noticed, was more like his father than his mother. 

It was in the way Peter always pretended to be okay, and never asked for help. Not because he was stubborn, but because he worried that he was taking up someone's time and wasting it. Richard did the same. (Even though everyone he knew wouldn't hesitate to make time for him.)

Peter got his father's facial expressions. Though the child, like his father, rarely got angry, he did once become actually a solid angry, but would once in a while get ticked off. The first time Clint saw it was when an agent talked shit about Natasha, and Peter who loved his aunt wholeheartedly, was very disgruntled, frowning at the agent and refusing to speak to them. 

When he was happy he would grin and bounce up and down, just like Richard childishly did all the time. 

As Richard did, he narrowed his eyes, pouted his lips, and crossed his arms when he was thinking hard about something, and his eyes would widen when he came up with the answer. 

There were times when Peter got irritated too, but those only happened twice a year at most, because Peter was a patient child, but he'd look around, clenching his fists, and he'd purse his lips, trying to regain his patience. 

But he also had some of Mary's qualities. Because he was stubborn, in the ways that he refused to back down. He got her politeness and her fake smiles.  

But what he got from both his parents was his innocence, his kindness and his ability to lodge his way into even the most cold-hearted people's hearts and stay stuck inside there, never to be pried out, not that people wanted to pry him out, but if they did, it would be impossible. Clint knew. Clint _tried_.  

When Natasha walked into the kitchen, Bruce leading a miffed Spiderman who glared at everyone in the room, to his room, Clint wouldn't have believed he was little Peter Parker, at least not the Peter Parker Clint had imagined him growing up to be, but Natasha wouldn't just say something like- 

"You know whose child that is" she snapped the moment Peter was out of earshot, "that's Richard and Mary's kid, that is  _Peter_ fucking  _Parker,"_

-And have not been completely sure about it. 

Clint saw the resemblance immediately. Peter grew into his own face, but he had his father's good looks, his mother's beauty too, and he'd grown up to be like his mother, with a stern glare that put people to shame even if they hadn't done anything wrong. (Though they would probably start to think that with a glare like that thrown their way.) He also had his father's bipolar personality. Clint had seen him walk by, glaring, then something Bruce said made him smile, just for a second before he went back to being annoyed and irritated. 

Peter got his father's figure, tall, lean, muscular, not like Steve, but still really muscular. 

Clint was looking for everything Richard and Mary in the kid, while he let the fact the kid, Spiderman, was as Natasha said, Peter  _fucking_ Parker. 

Thor, who had been hanging out on a different floor when Natasha left to interrogate Spiderman, was now sitting in front of Clint, a look of confusion crossing his features. 

"But, we met this Midgardian when he was younger no? At that age, he would have the capability of remembering our faces? The young man seemed very cross and unfamiliar with us," he furrowed his brows and turned to Natasha, "I understand his... grumpiness, but the later, has me muddled," 

"Amnesia?" Tony assisted Natasha, leaning back in his chair, looking down at his phone, "his parents died from a plane crash, right? Peter was the sole survivor, got amnesia though' so-" he arched an eyebrow at Natasha, "am I right, this S.H.I.E.L.D file is telling me the stuff, not sure if it's complete in its accuracy," 

Without a confirmation, Natasha stood and headed to the elevator to her floor of the tower, "Make sure no one else can find that information Stark, we'll continue his interrogation tomorrow," 

Clint whistled, everything now put in place "so that's why he was mad, we're holding him hostage for another complete day," shaking his head Clint leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms, "Natasha," he said timidly, "maybe we should hurry this up, Peter had always been very patient, but obviously, he's grown to be a lot more like Mary-" 

But Natasha was gone, and Clint sighed. 

"Talking to yourself Barton," Stark muttered, and Clint rolled his eyes at the snickers coming from the rest of the room. 

Forcing it, Clint smirked, "it's honestly the only interesting conversation I can have around here," he quipped. There were a handful of scoffs and playful cursing around the room before Stark looked away from his screen shaking his head and said, "get out of here!" playfully.

Leaving with a smile, Clint was also carrying a heavy heart.

He would never forget the day he and Richard were on a mission, and he'd seen the panicked, scared side of the man, for the first time.

Peter had just been born, and Mary was going through postpartum depression, her past just now coming back to her, and Richard and Clint thought they were going to die, so Richard asked Clint to take care of Mary and Peter if something happened to him. Clint couldn't say no, so he nodded, but asked Richard of the same favor. For him to take care of Laura if anything ever happened to him. Richard swore he would. 

Clint always thought that Richard would be the one to die, just because he was so reckless, and never hesitated to put everyone above him, and couldn't help the reflex to help everybody. Clint thought he would die a hero's death, and he thought he would have to take Mary and Peter in, not that he minded, but then both Mary and Richard died, and Ben and May Parker took custody of Peter, and Clint thought he'd never see Richard and Mary again. 

Of course, he knew that he would never see Richard or Mary again because they were dead, but he had always seen them both in Peter, so that's when Clint knew there was really nothing left of Richard and Mary Parker for him. 

So he tried to forget Peter, for a long long time, but the kid had won his heart the first day Clint saw him, and there was no getting rid of him. 

Now, Spiderman, Peter, who was so much like Richard, it hurt, and so much like Mary, it hurt more, with his hero complex, his need to save everyone, his attitude, his eyes, Clint wanted to grab him, talk to him. For so long Clint just mourned the Parkers, but he had moved past his pain, and now it was coming all back. 

When Clint got to his hallway, he jumped up and opened his vents, and crawled inside, then crawled to above Peter Parker's room, and looked down. 

Creepy, he knew he was being creepy, but Peter was nostalgia, and Clint couldn't help what made him sentimental. 

Pete was on running his hands over his face, glaring at Bruce who was kneeling in front of him, his hand on Peter's shoulder, trying to get the kid to calm down. Bruce was quite specialized now in anger management, Clint thought, so who better to help than him. 

The kid would disagree. 

"You swore that I would leave once I answer all your questions, fucking ask me your question, Bruce, I don't have time for this, the note will just excuse my absence, but it won't finish my work for me," the kid can pull of an angry face well, it's frightening, threatening, and Bruce looks ready to let the kid go, but he doesn't. 

He sighs. 

"I-" he looks at Peter, and sighs again, " _we_ just, need to ask questions, but we also need to tell you things, things you forgot," 

Peter stares at him as if he's grown two head then turns and looks straight at Clint. 

"Well, come out then," he grumbles, then looks back at Bruce, "tell your friend to come out of the vents, he knows shit too doesn't he? Tell me what _I've forgotten_ ," 

Bruce looks annoyed when he looks up at the vent, probably irritated with Clint's evesdropping. 

Clint opens the vent, jumps down, and tilts his head in question at Peter. 

"How did you-?" he motions toward himself, up at the vent and finished the question off with a  _what the fuck_ look. 

Peter cocked his head to the side and smiled snidely, "I think everything is a danger to myself, which works well for me half the time, so my sixth sense screams in my head when people like you are around," 

Clint pretends to be affronted, pressing a hand to his chest in the fake offense, "there is no one like me-" 

Peter cuts him off with a smile, and it seems genuine and he sighs, "yes," Peter cuts him off, "yes, of course, you're the special one," 

"No seriously, "Clint lets his hands fall to his sides, "what do you mean _'people like me?'_ " 

"Eavesdroppers," was all Peter said before he turned back to Bruce, "so, shoot," 

Bruce and Clint glanced unsurely at each other because they had no idea where to start, and Clint thought it would be best if Natasha were also there to explain it because she was good at dropping information on children. A literal expert. Whether she hinted at it until those kids themselves figured it out or just slowly brought them out of their denial. 

But Peter was impatient, and he seemed ready to beat it out of them so Bruce looked at his shaky hands and shrugged. 

"So, amnesia, we heard you had it," he questioned meekly. 

Peter looked amused and not at all expectant of that, while Clint just gave Bruce his most blank face which he seldom made in Banner's directions. 

"You're going to tell me that you know my parents? Aren't you?" he said in a now very bemused tone of voice, pulling a knee up to his chest to rest his chin on, "a lot of people do, you know after the ferry incident, I was approached by a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, Maria Hill, I believe her name was, who claimed she also knew my parents, they worked together, so how exactly did you know them? Again I'm assuming that's why you're asking," he said a littler hurridly, trying to keep his voice as emotionless as possible, but Bruce saw the hopefulness in his eyes. 

Clint stepped in this time, which Bruce was most grateful for as he really didn't want to make a fool of himself again. He also didn't know much of Peter's parents. 

"I worked with your mother for over a decade," Clint explained, sitting beside Peter, "but I knew your father longer, we were in the special unit forces together for years before we joined S.H.I.E.L.D, we were field partners going entering S.H.I.E.L.D as well, and even before that we were both partners in the circus and before that, we both were in the same orphanage, that's actually where we met-" 

Peter shifted to sit on his knees, expressing great interest, "my father was in the circus, my dad was an orphan?" 

No one had told him that part. He was slightly confused with this part of his father that he knew had been the half that his aunt and uncle had avoided talking to him about. They described his father to be this perfect polite, movie star looking man, that Peter could never bring himself to try and remember him, do to the fact that he thought the man to intimidating to see as a father. 

This was a completely different way to see his dad. 

"But, "Peter wondered out loud, "my uncle Ben, he had a ton of pictures of him with my dad when my dad was like sixteen-"

"Oh, ya," Clint nodded, getting at where he was going" your dad went missing when he was three, kidnapped, but they did find him when he was fourteen, coincidentally, all the way in Florida when your uncle was visiting his half-cousin, your grandparents basically adopted me when they found out I was his best friend, and we went to school together until our last years of college when we decided to join special forces," 

"You knew him that long?" Bruce asked, frowning, after all, Clint had never spoken of this part of him before, and it was surprising. 

Clint half ignored him, only acknowledging his question with a short glance, before turning to Peter who was now at full attention. 

"How did they meet?" he questioned, quickly, leaning forward awaiting the answer, "my uncle and aunt didn't know, do- do you?" 

Clint smiled looking back on that memory, "yes, of course, I do, very clearly I do, you see, your mother was a member of this- organization? The Rising Tide, a master hacker, and she kind of just hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D, to scare us, and so we tracked her, and it was your dad and I who were sent to actually recruit her, but your mother was a-" he snapped his finger looking for a modest word but really couldn't find one, " well she was a _bitch_ " 

Bruce gave him a disapproving look while Peter's eyes went a little wide and he raised an eyebrow, in confusion. 

"No," Clint chuckled underneath his breathe, "you see she was smart, her dad was a S.H.I.E.L.D, agent, and he trained her really well, too well and too hard in all of our opinions, before he passed, so when she was escaping our grasps the first time she well, she fought back, broke my arm and bruised your father's rib, she was a literal spitfire, but then Fury just wanted her even more, and apparently Mary, thought your dad was cute, because he's like you, in combat, talked all the time, and she just thought that was cute, so they talked, and he calmed her a bit, I mean, she broke his nose and bruised my ribs, but otherwise, the second time we tried to recruit her went better, but ya, she was a bitch when your dad first met her," 

Peter smiled, but Bruce scrunched his nose at Clint's wordplay, clearly disapproving of the way he was talking about Peter's mother. 

"Ya, I got that from her well enough," Peter nodded leaning back against the headboard of his bed. Because he really had. In many ways, he preferred to fight before talking things out. His patience ran short when he wasn't being Spiderman. 

Clint nodded, "Look, "he said slowly, "Natasha, she knew you," 

Peter said nothing just nodded and brought himself back forwards. 

"She was really good friends with your mother, and she-" Clint closed his hands together," she loved you very much because you were always around at S.H.I.E.L.D bases, and you wouldn't leave her alone," 

Peter frowned, "my aunt never mentioned her, or that I knew her or you in the first place at all, like, I did see pictures, of a boy and my dad, who now I guess looked like you, but I never cared to look into it, never bored enough," 

"Wow, thanks," Clint gave Peter a blank stare, "ya but anyways, I'm guessing it's because they didn't know your parents were S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and they had no idea that you were at the bases, all in all, besides me, your uncle and aunt had no idea your parents knew the avengers or Nat, and in the plane crash, when you fell and got amnesia, you forgot," 

Peter shrugged, leaning back so his head was pressed up against the headboard, "mkay then. I totally believe you," 

Clint glared, "are you being sarcastic or?" 

Peter sighed, "you could just be lying to get in my head," he said, "to get information out of me." 

Bruce shook his head, "no Peter, that isn't why we are keeping you here it's just-" 

"How did you know my dad?" Peter said, cutting him off, crossing his arms as he leaned forward, "if you really knew him." 

Bruce blinked, "oh," he said, "oh, we weren't close, but I met your dad around the same time I turned into the Hulk. He was the only one who didn't want me dead, then I left, tried to keep my distance from anything that could turn me into Hulk, then we saw each other the day before-" he paused, "the day before he got on that plane and died," 

Peter had this hard look on his face as he looked away from Bruce. 

"I bearly remember anything from that fall," he said, admittedly, "nothing really, except the sounds of bullets, my mother screaming and crying and my dad shouting my name," 

Bruce nodded sympathetically, but when he turned to look at Clint, he held a stony expression. 

"Bullets?" he whispered, "they told us the plane had some problems and that's why it fell you're saying-" 

"I tried to tell people the little that I remember," Peter said, sighing, "but everyone said it couldn't be true. The plane started going down, and my parents secured me in a life jacket but drowned during the ordeal. It's not what I remembered though," Peter said a bit frantically, "I remember bullets flying, a window shattering, screaming, shouting, and me being tossed off of the plane by my dad, or a blurry figure of him,"

Bruce met Clint's gaze. 

Okay. 

That was unheard of. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. That's that. Criticize, you may.


End file.
